


What If I Want To?

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Consent Porn, Discussion of birth control, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, Making Out, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Graphic Smut, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Sharing a Bed, negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 19:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8339257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: He looked up at her, and all he felt was tired. “This is my problem, not theirs. I never wanted to have heats, and I extra never wanted anyone to help me through them. I’m an adult. It’s no one else’s job to take care of me.” 


  Lydia Martin may have been a beta and proud of it, but the unyielding fury in her voice would have made any alpha proud. “What you are experiencing is not normal. This much pain and fever is indicative of wild hormonal fluctuations, and that is dangerous. You are going to tell me who you want me to call, because it would be irresponsible of me to leave you like this. What alpha would you be most comfortable with helping you?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. This was basically written as a "fuck you" to someone who does not deserve to be named. But everyone should be grateful that I have a contrary streak several miles wide and decided that the solution to someone bitching was to write MORE fic. 
> 
> Everyone should also be grateful to all the bloody enablers that made this possible: Mysenia was leading the troops, which included Animias, DenaCeleste, XCuteAsHale, LittleDetails, and moonlightcalls. Which. I don't know whether I love you or hate you all more for helping these two sassy bastards take over my life. 
> 
> As a final note: Stiles is a complicated, unhappy bunny here. The internalized misogyny tag is in reference to the fact that he's an omega, and his reactionary feelings about himself as a result of the culture he lives in, which I've modelled after our own. 
> 
> Happy Friday everyone!

 

Stiles curled around his pillow a little tighter, snuggled deeper into his blankets, and tried to breathe. Tried to remind himself that this would pass, that it was normal for it to feel awful when he was stuck in the middle of it, that he’d be okay soon. He would get through this, and he could do it alone, his dad and his doctors agreed, he didn’t _need_ an alpha.

It was a comforting mantra in his head: _I don’t need an alpha I don’t need an alpha I don’t need an al_ —

“Stiles, why aren’t you answering your goddamned phone?”

He felt a spike of panic. No one was supposed to be here. He didn’t want anyone to know. Lydia wouldn’t—but if she—

“Oh my god!”

And then her tiny, cold hands were pressed against his forehead and neck, and he groaned, because it felt good to be touched, but it hurt, too. Everything hurt right now. “’m fine,” he rasped.

“I’m not an idiot, Stiles. What in the hell is going on?”

He didn’t open his eyes, not wanting to see the look on her face when he said, “Heat.”

There was a long pause. “You mean to tell me that this—you’re in heat right now?”

“Unfortunately.”

There was more silence, and he thought that meant she was judging him, or trying to figure out how to leave gracefully. “You’ve never had heats,” she finally said. It was her _there’s something I don’t know and I don’t like it_ tone.

“Was on suppressants. Doc took me off—said it could mess with my fertility.” He cracked his eyes open and glanced at her. Her eyebrows were scrunched, clearly worried.

“That doesn’t happen unless you’ve been on them for longer than . . .” she trailed off, face smoothing out. “You’ve never had heats. Not ones that we’ve known about. You’ve been on suppressants that long?” He nodded. She glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell us that you were going off them? Suppressant withdrawal and the resultant heats are known for being hellish.”

He snorted. “I did. Told you health shit was gonna make me unreliable for a few months.”

“This,” she hissed, gesturing to his whole miserable body, “is not ‘health shit’. This is not ‘unreliable’. _This_ is you being a dumbass and refusing to let your pack help you, and I have no idea why.”

He tried to tuck his head in to his chest, curl in on himself so she couldn’t see him, but her hand on his jaw stopped him. “Tell me why.”

He looked up at her, and all he felt was tired. “This isn’t anyone else’s problem. I never wanted to have heats, and I extra never wanted anyone to help me through them. I’m an adult. It’s no one else’s job to take care of me.”

Lydia Martin may have been a beta and proud of it, but the unyielding fury in her voice would have made any alpha proud. “What you are experiencing is not normal. This much pain and fever is indicative of wild hormonal fluctuations, and that is dangerous. You are going to tell me who you want me to call, because it would be irresponsible of me to leave you like this. What alpha would you be most comfortable with helping you?”

“Lyds, no,” he whined.

She shook her head. “This is not negotiable. You tell me who you want me to call, or I will choose for you.”

His eyes itched with the need to cry, to his mounting embarrassment. “Don’t do this. Please, _please_ don’t do this.”

She ignored him, starting to scroll through her phone. “Scott?” He had no idea how he reacted to that, but she seemed to pick up on the implied _hell no_. “Allison?” He shook his head. He couldn’t deal with the crippling amount of awkward that would come out of that. “Derek?” Once again, he had no idea how he reacted, but she seemed to intuit the answer. “We’ll keep him as a maybe.” Her lips pursed. “Peter?”

This time, he was painfully aware of how his body reacted—of the way his muscles twitched, the way he clenched around the heat-aid that was doing shockingly little to ease his symptoms, and the needy whine that crawled up out of his throat. Lydia’s resultant sigh was long-suffering. “Really? Him?”

He burst into tears. “I’m sorry, ’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Hey, it’s alright.” She patted his shoulder awkwardly. “I’m not judging you. It’s not who I would have expected, and I am _not_ happy that you kept this from me, but if he’s who you want right now, then he’s who I’ll call.”

He struggled his way upright. “No, don’t, don’t call, I don’t need—”

But she had already gotten up and wandered away, phone pressed to her ear. He could only watch as she spoke to Peter. “Peter? It’s Lydia. Yes, I did, but—look, you’re going to need to pack a bag and come over.” There was a pause where her eyes slid to him, and he shook his head. “Remember how he said he was struggling with some health issues? Well, when I got here, I found him struggling.” Another pause, before she snapped, “Badly enough that I’m telling you to get your shapely ass over here to help him with it. And because that way, as soon as he’s better, the two of you can start brainstorming.” Lydia was quiet for a long moment. “This should go without saying, but for the record: if I find out—and I will, don’t think for a minute that I won’t—that you hurt him or took advantage, there will be hell to pay.”

Stiles could only stare as she tucked her phone away. He swallowed, trying to unstick the fear from his throat. “Why?”

“Because while we will be having a discussion about secrets and the keeping thereof, right now I’m concerned about your health and safety. An alpha can help you, and should be, given your situation. Since this is the alpha you want, he’s the one you’ll get.”

Stiles decided to ignore most of that, because it was terrifying and irrational. “You don’t even know if he’ll agree to help me.”

She scoffed. “Don’t play stupid, Stiles. It doesn’t suit you.”

She left his tiny one-room apartment, but since he could hear the clicking of her heels as she paced outside his door, he knew she hadn’t gone far. He wondered as he huddled back under his blankets what she was waiting for. He dozed a little, and when he woke up to Peter’s voice, figured he had the answer.

“You stupid boy,” Peter sighed, flipping Stiles’s deadbolt. It should have felt like being locked in a cage, like being trapped, but instead it felt like Peter was locking everyone and everything else _out_.

“Lydia told you?” He could feel his cheeks flaming with embarrassment. He didn’t look at Peter.

“Yes. Once I got here and she knew for a fact that there were no eavesdroppers around.”

“I’m sorry.” And he was. Sorry that Peter felt obligated to come, that Lydia found out, that his doctor had taken him off his suppressants, that he was an omega.

He startled when Peter laid a hand on his head. “Stop that. You have nothing to be sorry for.” There was a pause. “Except that you didn’t tell me yourself. The fact that you require assistance with your heats is nothing to be ashamed of.”

He snorted. “Says the alpha.”

Peter’s hand withdrew and he clenched his teeth rather than whine at the loss. “Needing help isn’t a weakness or an ‘omega thing’. You don’t think I fed and bathed myself while catatonic, do you?”

He hadn’t thought about that. He pulled the blanket off his head and looked at Peter, only to let out a squawk when he saw bare skin. “What the hell are you doing?”

Peter rolled his eyes before slipping under the covers. Luckily, he still had boxer-briefs on, but Stiles’s level of WTF remained legit. “You need alpha pheromones to settle your heat. There are a number of ways to transfer them, but all involve some degree of physical contact.”

Stiles glared, body tense and angled away so they wouldn’t touch. “You want me to believe you’re gonna join me in bed mostly-naked, but you aren’t gonna try and stick a knot in me?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Peter replied, nonchalant. “As I said, what you need is alpha pheromones. A knot alone won’t do much besides offer an intense orgasm.”

Well. That explained some things. “So that means I can ditch the heat-aid? Fucking thing is more uncomfortable than anything else.”

Peter’s face did something weird, then. “Would you let me remove it for you?”

Stiles didn’t know how he ended up in Wonderland, since he didn’t remember any rabbit-holes or mirrors, but it seemed to have happened anyway. “What? Why?”

“Several reasons. The first being that I’ll have an easier time of it than you will. The second is that if you’re sore, you could be injured.”

He glared. “You’re not trying to get your dick wet?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I said remove, not replace.”

It was the sass that did it. Peter wasn’t treating him like some wet omega fuck-hole, he was treating Stiles the way he always had, albeit with more emphasis on permission than was Peter’s usual speed. He nodded, breath gusting out of his lungs.

Peter’s eyes went soft. “Alright. Roll onto your other side for me, and hug your knees.” As soon as he was in position, Peter settled a hand on his hip. “Good boy. Try to relax.”

As much as he wanted to tell Peter to cut the alpha crap, he knew that was his own snappishness and nothing else. Peter wasn’t being overbearing, and the truth was that the simple orders were calming. He tried to breathe, relax, but he tensed when he felt Peter’s fingers probe around the base of the silicone toy. The hand at his hip tightened, and Peter’s thumb brushed his back. “Easy,” he murmured. “Deep breath in, and when you let it out, bear down for me.”

Stiles nodded. When he did, Peter carefully worked the fake knot free, and the rest slid out easily enough. Stiles gave a shudder of relief. When he lifted his head to look at Peter, he didn’t expect the older man to be studying the dildo.

“Oh my god, do I even want to know what you’re doing?”

Peter quirked an eyebrow at him before getting up and tossing the toy into his bathroom sink. “I was checking for blood, Stiles. I told you I was concerned about injuries, and since you didn’t seem particularly comfortable with the idea of me checking you over myself, it was the next best thing.”

He fucking hated it when Peter was right. It only made him that much more insufferable. He closed his eyes as another wave hit him, counting his breaths so he wouldn’t whine or whimper or scream. If he could deal with period cramps, he could deal with this.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m here.” And then Peter was curling around him, skin to skin, and it should have been creepy, should have felt like a violation, like being mocked, but it wasn’t and didn’t. It just felt like someone cared.

A few minutes later, after the wave passed, Peter pulled away. He didn’t go far—sitting up and turning Stiles over to pillow his head on Peter’s thigh. The alpha was a gentleman and kept him covered up with the blanket. “I need you to tell me what you want.”

Stiles didn’t look up. “To not deal with this shit, but doctors won’t let me get back on suppressants yet, and I do want kids someday, so a hysterectomy is out.”

Peter’s fingernails dragged across his scalp, and he moaned shamelessly. It felt fantastic. “Good to know, but I meant that I need you to tell me how you want me to help you through your heat. I’m assuming, given what you said before, that you’re not comfortable with being knotted?”

Stiles blushed. “Look, it’s not, I don’t hate knotting. I just . . .” he trailed off, unsure how to voice what he felt.

“Take your time, sweetheart. There’s no rush.”

Weirdly, that made finding words easier. “I have a lot of complicated feelings about it. I mean, it feels good, yeah, but I don’t want the first time I experience it with someone to be because I’m in heat. I want it to be a choice. And I don’t—I’ve never liked the way heat’s talked about. Like it’s some amazing thing. Your body’s taking the wheel, and you, the person, are just along for the ride. When you add in how alphas get all gross about it—bragging about their knots and how omegas are gagging for it—it just makes me want nothing to do with heat.”

Peter hummed, his fingers still massaging Stiles’s scalp. “I can understand that.”

“But?”

He could hear Peter’s smile. “But that isn’t the situation we’re in now. You need alpha pheromones to stabilize you, and Lydia wouldn’t have done what she did if it weren’t a necessity. There are a number of ways to give you what you need, I just need to know what you are and aren’t comfortable with.”

“I’ve never heard of anything but sex,” he admitted.

“And you didn’t research this into the ground? I’m disappointed.” But it was said lightly, without any true reproach, which made him smile. “Essentially, it comes down to bodily fluids, and any of them will get the job done. Sweat, saliva, blood, semen. We can make out for a while, see if that settles you, but if you’d prefer something less intimate, I can nibble on you instead. I’d definitely enjoy that. Cuddling will help, though to a lesser extent, because sweat doesn’t have a strong concentration of pheromones and is dependent on as much of our skin touching as possible.”

“I see now why sex is always brought up.”

Peter chuckled. “It’s efficient, but not necessary. So what are you comfortable with?”

Stiles squirmed a little, thinking about it. “I mean, I’m not totally against heat-sex, but—”

“Let me guess. You don’t want me to knot you?” Peter sounded amused.

“I don’t want to be penetrated at all,” he replied frankly. “Normally I like it just fine, but I’m hyper-sensitive right now, and not in a good way.”

Peter’s fingers stroked down his neck. “I don’t imagine having the toy stuck inside you helped on that front.”

“Probably not. I’d like cuddles, because the contact feels good, but I know I’ll need more than that to deal with my stupid hormones. Biting sounds okay, but, uh.”

Peter’s hand didn’t stop making soothing petting motions. “It’s alright, sweet boy. You don’t have to be my personal chew toy if you don’t like it.”

Stiles laughed at the unexpected dog joke. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Peter’s nails scraped teasingly across his shoulder. “It’s true.”

Stiles sighed. “It’s not that I don’t like it, more that I don’t know if I do. It’s never really happened to me before.”

“No one’s marked up your pretty skin with their teeth? Lord only knows what’s wrong with them.”

It should have sounded creepy—creepier than it did. It should have seemed predatory. Instead, it was just _Peter_.

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, trying to ignore the ripples of heat spreading out from every point of contact between them, “most people aren’t all that interested in omegas that don’t have heats.”

“Foolish of them, considering the widespread use of suppressants these days. But, to return to the topic at hand—is there anything you know that you would like right now?”

He blurted out “Kisses,” before he had time to stop himself. Based on the rumbling purr Peter let out, the alpha didn’t mind.

“Anything else, or would you like to start there and see how things go?”

“Start there.” No question. If he had to actually accept help to keep his rebellious body from killing him, he’d rather do it than talk about it.

And then Peter was sliding out from under him, rearranging them both until they were on their sides, facing each other. Peter watched him intently, a careful hand skating up his neck to cup his cheek before leaning in to brush their lips together. It was sweeter than he’d expected, and he sighed, relaxing as his eyes slipped shut and he leaned into the next kiss.

It stayed slow and shallow at first, lips pressing and moving together with the occasional bit of suction. It was Stiles who pushed for more, letting the tip of his tongue flick across Peter’s top lip. Peter moved closer then, the hand at his face sliding down his back to pull him against the bulk of Peter’s body. The quiet rumble started again, an encouraging sound, and Stiles liked the way it rolled through him from where he was pressed against Peter’s chest.

The kisses deepened, tongues snaking out to trace the insides of lips or the edges of teeth, but stayed unhurried. They weren’t desperate or frantic, weren’t a prelude to something else. It wasn’t until Stiles started whining, wanting more, that Peter’s teeth worried at his bottom lip.

His mouth dropped open in a moan, and Peter dipped his tongue inside. Stiles sucked on it and scraped his teeth against it, trying to even the score. All it did was flood his body with alpha pheromones and make Peter pull him closer still, the arm bracing his back feeling possessive and inescapable in a way that made him shiver. Not with pain, or fever, but a hunger he hadn’t experienced before.

After that, all he wanted was _more_. More kisses, more tongue, more of Peter’s teeth and hands and arms, more of Peter’s body warm and smooth and steadying against his own. He pressed them tighter and tighter together, until he eventually realized that he’d rolled right over on top of the alpha—was, in fact, straddling one muscled thigh—and that he was making needy, high-pitched noises.

Stiles broke the kiss, propping himself on his hands to put some distance between them as he heaved in deep breaths. He could get control of himself. He could and he would. Before he got there, though, Peter’s mouth latched onto his collarbone, sucking hotly.

He gasped, a pulse of heat shooting straight to his groin. Peter continued sucking and nibbling and nipping at everything he could get his mouth on, and Stiles tangled one hand in the short hair at the back of his head, silently urging him to keep going. It felt sinfully good. Not just because it was burning off his pain like the morning sun on fog, but because Peter’s mouth had clearly been express-delivered straight from Hell to make Stiles lose his goddamn mind.

Case in point: the fact that he was grinding against Peter’s thigh. And couldn’t stop. He wanted to—well, intellectually, anyway. His body had taken over, and might actually give out on him if he stopped rocking his hips and chasing the relief that was so close it hurt.

“’m sorry, I didn’t, I don’t—”

“Hush, sweet boy,” Peter murmured, his mouth brushing against the skin of Stiles’s throat. “You have nothing to apologize for. Take what you need.”

Like all he’d been waiting for was permission, he ground down one last time and came with a drawn-out moan. He slumped atop Peter after, gulping down desperate breaths laced with the scent of their sweat and his own come.

When he could once again think and breathe simultaneously, he realized that he’d gushed all over Peter. “Sorry I got you all sticky.”

Peter’s hands skated lightly up his back. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I rather expected you would at some point.”

He levered himself up to glare, intending to grill the manipulative prick about just what his expectations had been, but was distracted when the move pressed his hip to Peter’s cock. Which was very obviously hard and leaking. “Are you, um?”

Peter’s expression didn’t change. “Just a reaction to your scent. Don’t worry about it.”

Stiles gnawed on his lip for a moment before deciding fuck it, he’d already made an ass of himself rubbing off against Peter. “What if I want to?”

Peter’s eyes were bright and hungry as he asked, “Do you?”

Stiles paused before he nodded slowly, resting his weight on Peter and putting pressure—deliberate, this time—on the erection that was blood-hot even through cotton briefs. Peter’s eyelids drooped and he rolled them over, arranging Stiles’s legs so that he lied between them. Stiles drew his head down for more kisses, liking the way they made him feel a little buzzed and revelling in the flex of Peter’s body on top of his.

Peter rutted lazily, and Stiles quickly decided that the briefs needed to go. To spare Peter’s dick the friction-burn, if nothing else. So he dragged his nails down Peter’s back, liking the growl he got, and hooked his fingers in the waistband—only for Peter to stop moving. “Stiles,” it was half-warning, half-question, and all demand.

He licked his lips, staring at Peter’s chest rather than his face. “I haven’t changed my mind, just—skin. That’s all I’m after here.”

There was a moment where nothing changed, before Peter murmured “Alright,” and lifted his hips. Stiles dragged the briefs out of the way, and hummed when he felt the hot press of Peter’s cock against his belly. Time went hazy again as everything blurred into hot and close and _yes_ , into the feeling of being warm and safe and _cherished_ under Peter. There was a sweet ache in his chest as Peter came and then draped over him, mouthing at his neck—because this was something he wanted, something he _chose_ , a careful, perfect thing that had nothing to do with biology and everything to do with why he’d wanted Lydia to call Peter in the first place.


End file.
